


do not pick a weak man

by liamozes



Category: John Wick (Movies), The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crossover, F/M, John Wick AU, i really don't know what the mob is like, it's also not very violent, it's really more of a pre-relationship thing, this has got to be one of the least oomph stories i've ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-11 05:29:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17440844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liamozes/pseuds/liamozes
Summary: Miriam Maisel is an assassin forcibly dragged back into a world she thought she had left for good, who is sent to accomplish an impossible task.





	do not pick a weak man

**Author's Note:**

> so i love john wick (yeah he murders people mercilessly but he has redeeming qualities) and mmm is set in nyc so maybe something can be done with the characters in the world of john wick?
> 
> if you are looking for midge x lenny then this might not be for you as it doesn't focus heavily on their relationship
> 
> originally titled (quite unoriginally): assassins au

There are only two rules in this cruel world of theirs.

One- _blood markers must be honoured_.

And two- _no business shall be conducted on Continental grounds_.

Midge learned one of those rules the hard way.

When she first started out with her hair still wet behind her ears, she had managed to chase one of her targets to the Continental in Madrid, pointed her Glock at his head inside the lobby, before the situation was quickly de-escalated by the Manager, who threatened to take away her membership if she dared shoot a man on neutral territory. 

She had gotten away with drawing her weapon inside the hotel with barely a slap on her wrist. Midge also managed to dispatch of her target in the end.

There are few safe places in the world for her kind, and she was not willing to let go of that security, even as a young girl of nineteen. 

Now, she enters the marbled lobby of the New York branch of the Continental, a fuschia briefcase in her left hand, a matching umbrella in her right. The nightgown she was wearing discreetly underneath the coat was drenched in blood.

Gazes follow her movement as she passes, head held high. 

The concierge gives her one of the impassive looks favoured by the hotel's staff. Midge could never tell if they secretly hated her or not. 

"Hello," Midge says with a winning smile. "How are you?"

The man's face didn't even twitch. "I have you booked for two nights."

"Might be more," She says, turning business-like. "It depends on how well my business goes."

"Of course, Madam."

"How's the business going?"

"It is well."

"Is the manager in?"

He stares at her inscrutably over the top of his glasses. "He is always in, Madam."

"Alright," Midge replies, ducking her head. 

"Room 724."

"Thank you," Midge takes the keys, smiling again, placing two gold coins onto the counter. She doesn't know why she still does it, seeing as almost no one ever smiles back at her here.

"It is a pleasure having you with us again, Mrs. Maisel. Have a pleasant evening."

"Do they give you a script to memorize or what?" Midge says as she picks up her briefcase. As usual, the concierge doesn't react.  

She _really_ doesn't know why she keeps on expecting that he fucking would. 

* * *

"Mrs. Maisel," The Manager says to her as he breathes out a puff of cigarette smoke. In the coloured lights of the secret bar in the basement, the smoke turns a vibrant shade of red. 

Her married name sounds almost flirtatious coming out of his mouth. 

"Mr. Bruce," She greets him formally, sitting down primly with her legs crossed at the ankles.

No one ever tried to use his first name, mainly because no one knew what it was, not even the staff, or so the rumour goes. Mr. Bruce was an enigma wrapped in a mystery, a shadowy figure in a community composed of secretive characters. 

"Where's that little gremlin of yours?" Mr. Bruce says, stubbing his cigarette out, and lighting another. Midge can't recall anyone else who dares smoke in their line of work, besides the mob bosses, but the Manager has always done things his way. 

"Susie?" Midge answers, with a raise of her eyebrow. "She's in Maine, but you probably know that already."

He gives her an indulgent smile. "Here I thought you were taking a break."

Midge glances at him sharply. Her failed affair with a civilian, Joel, was common knowledge among the underworld, as she had taken his name afterwards. None of them dared bring her three-year-long absence from the international scene in front of her, but she knew that everyone knew what had happened. 

She goes for a casual laugh. "Low blow even for you, Mr. Bruce."

"Ah," He says with a wave of his hand. "I have my moments." 

"Well," She places her hands on the wooden table. "I'm sort of back now."

"Rather beaten up, I see," He gestures to his forehead. His dark eyes sweep across her in her outfit of black velvet and pearls.  

Midge knows the scabs and the lines on her face were not fully covered by her make-up. She had done it that way herself, after all. 

"I'm a little out of practice."

"You call that 'a little'?"

She shrugs, a childish response. 

"You are safe here," Mr. Bruce rasps, sipping his whiskey and letting out a world-weary sigh. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Mrs. Maisel?"

"The Italian, Emanuel Motisi."

Mr. Bruce whistles lowly. "Big Mo?" 

"I need to know his location."

"Why is that?"

"I'd just like to sit down for a coffee with him, have a chat."

"The last time a person told me they wanted to 'have a chat' with someone, 76 people ended up dead."

"I'm not Wick."

"Clearly."

"I'm not out for revenge or anything- I'm not that fucking stupid."

"That you are not."

"I really need to talk with him."

Emanuel Motisi was the brother of the head of the Italian mafia in New York City, and he had asked her for a favour, turning up at what had been her and Joel's apartment on the Upper West Side.

Then he had dropped off the radar and around a dozen of his brother's men showed up to trash her place. Don't blame her if she wasn't interested after that.

At least Mr. Bruce understood her enough to not ask her what it was for.

"Lotta guys are after him," Midge spares a glance around the bar. "Have you thought this through, Miriam?"

She nods.

"It'll be on your head then."

Feeling that she was being dismissed, Midge stands and heads straight towards the bar. 

"Mother of God- Midge!" Imogene chirps when she sees her. "It's so nice to see you again."

"Hey, Imogene," She replies. It was rare to find friends in the business, but she did like the petite bartender. "Still hanging around?"

Imogene smiles wryly. "You know I can't be found anywhere else." 

Then she says curiously, lowering her voice. "So how's life going after the you-know-what?"

"You can say it as it fucking is, Imogene," Midge starts tapping an irregular beat on the wooden counter. "I don't mind."

"I'm sorry that it didn't work out, Midge."

"So am I."

"It only takes one  _bastard_ to get under your skin."

"That it does."

"If you ever need-"

"I don't need a shoulder to cry on, but thanks."

"If you ever need to refresh yourself, I know a great yoga instructor."

"What the overpriced women-only yoga sessions?"

"Or we can do Pilates."

Midge shudders at the thought of doing Pilates. She hated working out with a bunch of strangers.

"It's not that bad. All that movement slims your body down and makes your thighs look amazing!"

Imogene talks a bit about exercising and dieting, trivial things, which Midge tunes out. It takes a while before the blonde stops.

Recognising the lull in the conversation, Midge turns back to see Imogene look at her with some concern.

"You know I've never seen you like this."

Midge tilts her head. "Like what?"

"Sad," Imogene says, looking at her phone. She begins to mix a drink. "You know if you keep frowning like that, you'll get wrinkles."

"Let them come," Midge declares grandly. "I don't care anymore. I am an independent woman and my appearance still defines who I am? Society can go to hell.  _Fuck_ the beauty standards of modern society- I'm going natural."

"No, you won't."

"Nah," Midge grins. She could never do without her red lipstick. 

"Here you go," Imogene places a daiquiri with a napkin in front of her. "On the house."

"Oh, it's fine," She shakes her head to decline. Midge is on a month-long cleanse after drinking two bottles of vodka after the break-up. 

Imogene flicks her eyes to the left. 

Midge follows her gaze, to see Mr. Bruce raising another glass of brown liquid at her, a cigarette dangling lazily from his fingers. 

She looks down at the napkin.

 _Gaslight_.

* * *

Midge has never been to the Gaslight, but she has been to clubs like it- 'hot' clubs for young people to be seen at that never lasted long. 

Armed with her trusty Glock and knives, with a couple of magazines, in a customary dark dress shirt and slacks, she heads downtown.

The antique gaslight- likely a relic from the place's early days as a cafe in the 50s- and the long queue stretching past the entrance mark the club out from the rest of the stores on the street.

She slips in unnoticed through the back entrance and heads upstairs onto the main floor. 

Midge is immediately assaulted with the booming noise of some remixed pop song and flashing lights. Writhing bodies brushed against her, dancing along to the hypnotic beat, as she searches for Motisi's noticeable bald head in the crowd.

_Where the fuck was he?_

"Mrs. Maisel," Someone grabs her by the arm. She instinctively twists out of the hold, hand halfway to the gun before she recognised who it was.

_Michael Kessler, mob lawyer._

Her father had known him- it was how he had gotten out of the underworld and escaped with her mother to Paris. Midge was more cautious around the plump man than she was around others of his sort.

"Come with me."

It was not a request.

She follows him to a curtained-off VIP section, where she sees Hackett, Kessler's boss.

"Young lady," Hackett says in the way that always made Midge feel like she was being patronised. "You've gotten yourself into quite a mess."

Midge thinks back to the bodies that had to be cleaned up after an ambush at her apartment because Motisi's father was out to get her, and couldn't help but agree.

"It was within my rights to defend myself."

"Of course."

"And where's Emanuel Motisi?"

"Now why would I tell you that?"

"He threatened to put out a contract on me."

"You refused his request."

"Where is he?"

"I'm afraid I cannot tell you, Mrs. Maisel."

Coming out of his mouth, her name sounds mocking. 

"Surely there are more pressing matters in your life than my relationship with the Motisi family. Please tell me where he is."

Hackett leans forward as Midge continues to stand. 

"No."

Midge starts forward. The brief movement makes Hackett sit up a little straighter, and the guards in the room reach for their guns.

At least it showed that her rage was still seen as a threat. Midge was still the ~~untouchable~~ person who had killed a man with a Tupperware box. 

"I'm asking nicely," She flashes Hackett her most angelic smile.

"He's with me," He says finally. 

"Great," Midge says, opening her arms. "Take me to him."

"So you can pull a Wick?" Hackett cocks his head, reaching for a glass of bourbon. "God knows women can't control their emotions half as well as men can."

Midge barely restrains herself from rolling her eyes. "I won't."

 _I'm not a petty idiot with mental health issues_ , is left unsaid.

She also doesn't ask the obvious question of why Big Mo was with his brother's biggest rival. Like her father says in a tone only he thinks is wise- _the enemy of my enemy is my friend._

"Look, his brother tried to kill me, alright. And since Motisi was so vague when he came to visit me, I would very much like to talk to him."

"We both know what a 'talk' means."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Mr. Bruce sent you here, didn't he," Hackett says as he stands, buttoning up his suit jacket. 

She nods, expression neutral.

Part of her wonders why he was at the Gaslight in the first place. It wasn't exactly like the overpriced restaurants and extravagant private clubs he was known to frequent.

"Your ex was a comedian wasn't he?"

Midge felt a sudden need to wrap her fingers around the man's neck at the barely veiled insult but squashes it down. 

"He did stand-up."

Hackett looks amused. "Men have a good sense of humour."

Midge gives him her neutral look of disapproval. "He tried."

Hackett has an impressive poker face, but Midge is certain she sees a glint of sympathy in his eyes, though it might've just been the terrible lighting.

He brings her to him wordlessly, leaving Kessler behind. 

Big Mo, the man who had started this whole debacle, is reclining on a leather couch, eyes half closed, two women stroking his body. Sometimes Midge _really_ hated her chosen career. 

"Signora Maisel."

The man rises to his impressive height of six feet and five inches. Broad-shouldered, barrel-chested and completely shirtless as to show off his tattoos, he fit the stereotype of the American gangster down to a tee. Midge was pretty sure Italian men weren't supposed to be this _big_ , but her opinion of Mama Motisi was her own.

"Mr. Motisi."

"You- you are a special woman, Signora."

She waits until he has collected himself to give him a proper scowl.

Big Mo winces. "I would've asked you to get rid of my brother for me, but I was called to a meeting before I could, ah, get to my point."

"Hmm."

Midge never thought Big Mo, large as he was, would have the balls to challenge his brother for his position as leader. 

"And what's your interest in all this?" She asks Hackett, who was watching Big Mo button his shirt with badly hidden distaste.

"Let's just say the Hacketts will benefit greatly from Emanuel's ascension to the position, and not Guiseppe's son."

" _My offer stands, in case you are still considering it,_ " The man says in Italian. " _Five million. 12 hours._ "

She replies also in Italian. " _You can get someone else to do it_."

" _You are the one we have chosen._ "

The fact is, Midge knows Big Mo is not complimenting her, but she smiles at him blandly, while she thinks. 

" _I don't think it would be wise._ "

Hackett makes a displeased noise. "Can you both talk in English? We're in America."

"I will not accept your offer."

"Look, Mrs. Maisel," Hackett sighs. "You've been gone for a while now- to be honest, you were not our first choice. But you'll do it."

"Why?"

"For your ex-lover."

Midge scoffs openly. "Are you fucking serious? You realise that we aren't in a movie right? You can't just use love as a threat."

"You will do it," Big Mo says, placing a silver disk onto the glass table. The silver skull imprinted on the metal seems to mock her foolishness at the time. 

 _Oh right_. Midge feels cold all of a sudden. _How could she have forgotten about the blood marker?_

"His wife gave it to me," Hackett now has the air of someone who knows he has the upper hand. He is an _insufferable scumbag_ , she thinks. 

Of _course_ , Alexandra would turn out to be one of the most important pieces on the board. The wife of Emanuel Motisi was no pawn in this game. She would be cruel at the top of the underworld hierarchy. 

"Then I suppose I do have no choice," She says quietly. "I'll do it."

"Thank you, Mrs. Maisel."

" _Eleven o'clock. The Copa tomorrow evening._ "

"He is well-guarde. However, you are likely to find him in a private sitting room. Bring the big guns."

 _Someone wants to make a statement_ , Midge thinks sullenly. _You ball-less, cheating excuse of a man Emanuel Motisi._

* * *

It is well after one when arrives at the Continental once more. 

The concierge offers her a slight nod.

Seeing her face, he adds, "The Manager is upstairs."

"Thank you," Midge says, not stopping. 

Mr. Bruce office just screams old world money in its wooden furnishings, gilded edges and oil paintings. The air smells like tobacco smoke and lemon. The lights of the city beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass windows glitter.

"Do you never sleep?"

Mr. Bruce rises from his chair. Midge has a feeling that he would've turned dramatically in his seat if he could, but the old-fashioned furniture did not include a swivel chair. 

Surprisingly, he wasn't smoking or drinking. 

"I dangle from the ceiling upside-down like a bat," He says, not missing a beat.

"Does Alexandra Motisi want to gain control of the family?"

Mr. Bruce raises both his eyebrows. Perhaps Midge had been too forward.

"Well if she is trying to do it with you, she's not as smart as I thought she was."

The man gets out from behind his elegant mahogany desk to stand in front of Midge, towering above her. Midge does not dare take a step back.

"Alexandra has finally shown her hand," Mr. Bruce muses aloud, likely for Midge's benefit. She might be an experienced hitwoman, but she still had trouble parsing through all the subtext. "What will you do, I wonder."

"I've said yes."

"This may well be your version of an impossible task."

"I'm aware of that," says Midge cooly. "Is the sommelier in?"

"He is," Mr. Bruce replies softly, and his hand makes a brief, aborted movement.

Midge looks at him.

At the shadows under his eyes, the messily gelled hair, and the well-tailored, but rumpled suit. The Manager couldn't be older than thirty-five.

"Good luck," He says finally. 

At that empty expression, Midge smiles warmly at him. Coming from him that meant one thing- _don't die_.

He of all people should know that luck was for other men, but the sentiment was appreciated nonetheless.

* * *

She spends the rest of the day planning in her room.

Much of her job was planning the right way to enter and exit a location, choosing what weapons to use. Now that she was older, not much of her assignment was left to luck.

Midge sets out with her bullet-proof vest on underneath a white dress shirt, long black over-coat on despite it being the middle of summer. 

She goes through much of the motions as though in a trance. Midge never thought that killing could come so naturally to a person. It should be against the nature of any human to harm another.

But there is something so satisfying in seeing a man's brain explode from the impact of her shotgun. 

Midge shoots to disable, then aims for the head. Or she uses her knives, either way, someone ends up on the floor, unmoving. 

She tosses a book at someone and breaks a henchman's neck cleanly. 

She is thrown onto a table. Her head spins. And she gets back up to stab the man in the eye with an ugly squelching sound. 

Call her brutal, call her merciless, call her inhumane. It works for John Wick, _and_ it works for Miriam Maisel. 

Guiseppe Motisi knew she would be coming for him, after what she had done to her apartment, shitty as it may have been after the separation. 

That is why she finds him halfway through the hallway she predicted he was going to use to make a hasty exit. 

She aims for the heads of his personal guards. Blood splatters onto the white floor. It coats the walls. 

Midge has Guiseppe alone, as he limps to the wooden doors, bleeding from the leg wound she had caused. 

That is when she makes a mistake. A mistake she had sworn to her father that she would never make. 

She hesitates.

There are no pretentious sayings about hesitation in the community, just a general understanding that _hesitation will get you killed_. 

This is the moment when she feels a prick at her neck, as she stares down Guiseppe Motisi with her Glock pointed at his face.

The world turns black.

 _Shit_.

* * *

Midge is pretty sure that in the history of the underworld there has been no one as unbelievably stupid as she was.

She's shocked that she's still alive when she blinks open her bleary eyes to find herself in a conference room. The sounds of the city waking up around her help her to regain alertness.

"You carry that syringe with you everywhere?"

An enforcer punches her in the face, dislocating her jaw. She could hear it plop out of place.

"Don't be a smart-ass, Mrs. Maisel," Guiseppe says with a humourless smile. "You are not as funny as you think you are."

Midge grits her teeth, her mind already going through various scenarios where she tears out Guiseppe's eyeballs. 

He strokes her chin with his hand, placing a thumb on her lips. "You are thinking about ways to kill me, I suppose."

"I will tear you apart," she says hoarsely and bites down onto flesh. Midge gets a kick to the ribs for that.

"You will never get the chance," He replies, eyes cold as he motions for another man, who has his something ready to suffocate her, to step forward. His thumb is bleeding. 

_Ah Midge, you aren't going to get out of this one now._

She is losing air when a bullet breaks the glass and blows right into the man's skull. 

Another kills the man standing guard almost at the same time. 

Midge gets out of her restraints with a sharp edge she kept in the sleeve of her blazer, grabbing the dead men's guns. She has no time to think about who had just saved her- Susie? It was probably Susie- she had a man to kill.

* * *

When she was in high school, someone wrote ' _midge kicks some fucking ass_ ' in the boy's bathroom. 

How did she know? She was disposing of some questionable items in the toilet.

Why did people think she kicked ass? Well she might've picked a fight a few snotty seniors up for harassing another girl. The ringleader couldn't walk without assistance for three whole months. 

Midge was never prone to violence at a young age, she just couldn't stand by while bullies hurt innocent people. She was made into a weapon by her circumstances. 

 _It's strange_ , she thinks, running down the docks. That she was now working for the men who were worse than the bullies at her school, even if there had been no choice. Her employers were vile and self-serving. _What did that make her?_

She guns the men down. She always counts them. Nine bodies.  

Guiseppe Motisi still gets away. 

Midge bites down on her lip to stop herself from screaming. 

* * *

"You're a fucking idiot."

"Hey, Susie. It's been a while."

Her friend, for some reason, is holding a toilet plunger as she approaches Midge at the pier. Her sniper rifle was nowhere in sight. She is also looking pissed. 

"You are without a doubt, the shittiest assassin ever."

"I hesitated."

Susie stares at her incredulously. "This is another reason why you're a fucking idiot. Guiseppe being alive is just the _tip_ of the iceberg." 

"I'll get him."

"You're asking for a miracle."

"Thanks for saving my ass, by the way."

"Not that your ass is worth very much."

"Thanks."

"It was a huge fucking mistake. A fuck-up of mythical proportions."

"I know. No need to rub it in."

"Where the fuck do you think he's going?"

"I don't know."

"Safe house?"

"I messed up."

Susie gives her a pointed look. "And you just realised it now?"

"I think Guiseppe won't be out of the country just yet. So where is he going to go?"

"Tarasov tried to leave in a helicopter."

"Then Wick happened."

"Poor guy."

"Yeah."

"You'll get him. He couldn't have gone very far."

"I failed."

"You were given twelve hours to complete your task. Your time isn't up yet."

Midge stares at her in surprise. "Mr Bruce called?"

"Who else?" Susie replies, crossing her arms, still holding onto the toilet plunger. "He's got an eye on you."

Midge wraps her arms around herself, feeling slightly embarrassed. But then again, she could've died in there.

"Anyway," Susie goes on. "I'm in this with you."

"Maine not doing it for you?"

"Nah, it was _really_ fucking boring."

Midge inhales deeply once. "Alright, let's do this."

The shorter woman gives her a grim look. "Tits up."

* * *

Susie tracks Motisi to a townhouse in the Lower East Side. 

It is Midge who confronts him. 

" _Alexandra must really want it,_ " Guiseppe spits out, with Midge's knife to his throat. She's pretty sure she has two bruised ribs from being thrown down a flight of stairs, and he's also put up a valiant fight, but she has him now. "So much so that she-"

Midge slits his throat. Warm blood pours out. 

Her hands are slick with it. 

Guiseppe Motisi, head of the Italian mob, dies with a gurgle. Midge watches the life leave his eyes.

She picks up her empty Glock from the ground, and leaves, tucking her hands into the pockets of her torn blazer.

* * *

"You know I never liked Joel," Susie tells her when they meet up at a retro diner somewhere in Brooklyn. Midge's hands have been washed clean of blood, and she was making a mental reminder to buy baking soda to get rid of the bloodstains. "He looked too much like a rat."

She makes a funny face which Midge assumes is her imitation of a rat. They both laugh until their ribs ache.

"Don't piss on Joel, he was cute until he left me for Penny. _Penny_. _Pan_."

"Christ that's a fucking unfortunate name."

"She wasn't even that pretty, you know. I would understand if he left me for a blonde bombshell with a trust fund, but his dumb secretary? Unbelievable."

"Want me to kill her?"

Midge shoots her friend a look. " _No_."

"Relax," She holds her hands up. "I'd never kill a civilian."

"Thanks for offering."

"Why are you thanking me? Don't tell me you've gone soft after seeing that shmuck."

"Joel was not-"

"You were reduced to a housewife, Midge," Susie says, taking a bite out of her burger. "Stop defending his sorry ass."

Her burner phone pings. Midge checks it.

_Five million._

"Did you score?"

Midge nods, placing her fries onto Susie's plate. 

"What the fuck do you think happens now?"

"I retire, I guess."

"Retire?"

"Well I used to be indecisive, but now I'm not so sure."

Susie snorts. "You just got back."

"Maybe I don't want to stay."

"Your parents?"

"Hate the fact that I'm single. They think I'm going to die alone, which is not true. When I die, I'm going to take a lot of people down with me."

"No one retires. You're Mrs Maisel."

Midge watches Susie chow down the fries, stuffing them into her mouth like she didn't know when her next meal was going to arrive. They sit in companionable silence, and once again she thinks how lucky she was to have a partner of sorts in their world.  

You could never trust anyone. Some days she doesn't even trust herself. 

"You know when I asked what the fuck is going to the Motisi family?"

"Alexandra will take care of it."

"She was always a ruthless, self-righteous bitch, wasn't she?"

"Bitches get stuff done."

"I can't believe you just said that shit aloud."

Midge flashes her a genuine smile, before checking the time. "I've gotta go."

"Wait what about my cut?"

"40 per cent!" Midge says jubilantly, throwing a bill onto the table. "Pay you back later!"

"You better!" Susie says mockingly in the same tone, and ducks her head when Midge kisses her cheek.

* * *

Midge really doesn't have anything to pack up at the Continental before she heads back to clean up her apartment.

Her wounds are checked and patched up by the in-house doctor, Benjamin, who is way hotter than the previous one, her libido notes enthusiastically. 

"Don't do anything strenuous for at least another two weeks. Be glad you don't have internal bleeding."

"Alright, _doctor_ ," Midge says, peeking at him from under her lashes. 

He gives her a funny smile. Midge returns it, acting shy.

Benjamin's stitches are perfect.

"I'm alive," She announces to Mr Bruce, who is standing in front of his desk, when she barges into his office, bypassing his guards, knocking once without waiting for an answer. 

"Your powers of observation continue to astound me, Miriam." He continues grandly. "Your debt has been paid in full."

"Did you-"

"Yes."

Midge usually hates showing affection, but she does beam and wrap her arms around the Manager's neck. He takes the brunt of the impact when she gives him a brief half-hug. before letting go. It was the second time she had touched him, the first time was when she had shaken hands with him after being introduced by her mentor.

She had caught the man by surprise. He embraces her back, the slightest tightening of his arms around her slender body. 

Mr Bruce returns his focus to the papers on his desk after they release each other. 

Midge continues. "Would you like to go out- together?"

He looks at her over the rim of his glasses. "Maybe in the next century, once I finish the paperwork."

It wasn't exactly a _no_ , which might as well have been a _yes_ from him.

She smiles crookedly at him. "You know where to find me."

* * *

 

" _I've had to do a lot of things I don't like to do._

_But I'm not as black as I'm painted._

_I'm human._

_I've got a heart in me."_

_Al Capone_

**Author's Note:**

> *insert guitar solo as the camera pans up towards the skyline of nyc*
> 
> midge as an assassin  
> lenny as winston, ie the manager of the continental
> 
>   * so in the show midge has never been out of america, but since she's an accomplished hitwoman she has been to places okay she's well-travelled 
>   * i know nothing about firearms but john wick uses a glock so that's midge's gun are there more 'feminine' guns? i don't know anything about guns in the 1950s so let's just assume it's set in the modern world who knows who cares guns are terrible
>   * like for one moment i thought it would be really cool to have it set in the 1950s in the same world so it can be like winston (from the films) and lenny have a connection or sth but then i was like yeah too much effort
>   * every part of me is screaming "show, don't tell" but i think that didn't happen lol
>   * in many ways, midge is different from wick. she's talkative, she's more well-adjusted, and she def isn't as petty. she's just not as 'need a few cards up my sleeve' but a woman who is just honest. i'm also pretty sure she's a cat person
>   * no post-mission sex bc i'm not a smut writer
> 

> 
> References:
> 
> * in this story, winston does not exist (but john wick does, and yeah he's been excommunicado), the mobs in nyc are different, motisi is part of the sicilian mob 
>   
> 
> * other changes include midge's children (none in this universe), her parents (they're in paris), imogene is not so traditional, no stand-up comedy, a three-year relationship instead of four, kessler (who was midge's lawyer for her trial) works for hackett (the judge)- obviously it won't happen irl, but im just playing around with the characters
>   
> 
> * so 'weak men' is sort of a theme in this story: there's joel, who leaves midge after learning that she is an assassin when he reveals details of his affair; hackett, a sexist person who mocks midge to make her feel insecure; big mo, who does everything for his wife and tries to please everyone
>   
> 
> * yeah you bet midge 'i dont know what you're talking about' maisel is trolling the life out of hackett to see whether or not he mansplains sth to her
>   
> 
> * also lenny was trying to touch midge in the office scene
>   
> 
> * she drinks daiquiris (in the show) to maintain her body weight
>   
> 
> * everyone in the assassin community knows joel doesn't deserve a woman like midge maisel
>   
> 
> * they also know who she married so she is addressed by her married name as “mrs maisel” but before that she was known as “midge” or “miss weissman” 
>   
> 
> * why would they attempt to kill her in a conference room and not in an abandoned warehouse. maybe it's an abandoned office building by the river hmmm (the visual image is better)
> *   
> 
> * what is the noise made when someone gets stabbed in the eye? also it's not john wick if he doesn't yeet sth 
>   
> 
> * signora is italian for mrs. (all italian is done with italics bc i only know basic italian like colours and how to ask questions) 
> 
> \--
> 
> tl;dr- midge is an assassin who leaves for three years out of love, escaping with the use of a blood marker in exchange for a favour from the ambitious wife of an italian mob boss. now she's back because her relationship has recently failed and she has no other work. her target is to kill the head of the powerful motisi family. romance still happens somehow
> 
> \--
> 
> lmao i wrote this crap in two days so leave me some kudos and comments pls
> 
> find me on [tumblr ](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/possessedbyforcesunknown)  
> 


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